Andrew Taylor - The American Boy

"Stay and take a glass of wine with me, Shield."

I returned slowly to my chair, hardly caring whether my reluctance showed.

"Now the servants with their long ears are out of the way we shall drink a toast," he said, seemingly oblivious to my distaste for him. "A bumper, mind, I'll have no damned heeltaps tonight. To my little Flora, God bless her: to the future Lady Ruispidge."

I drank the toast and then we drank another to Sir George.

"Carswall Ruispidge," the old man murmured. "Sir Carswall Ruispidge, Baronet. It has a fine sound, does it not? Sir George assures me that if the union is blessed – and why should it not be, for both parties come of sound English stock? – when the union is blessed, I say, their eldest boy shall be called Carswall. That is handsome, eh? It is a pleasure to deal with a gentleman, Shield. I tell you plainly: I shall have no more to do with scrubs. I give you another toast: to Carswall Ruispidge, may God bless him. Come, recharge your glass."

Whatever mood possessed him, Carswall lived it to the full. There were more toasts, more bumpers. I fancy he was already more than a little cut before we sat down to table. In under an hour, he was slumped in his chair, his eyes glistening with moisture and his waistcoat spotted with wine. I confess I was a trifle the worse for wear myself, for Carswall had urged me to drink glass for glass with him, and a dark, despairing mood had possessed me since I had been alone with him. I drank in the hope of forgetting all that I desired and would never have.

"When will the marriage take place, sir?" I inquired.

"Sir George and I have settled on June. That will give the lawyers time to tie up everything as tight as need be. Then I shall give away my little Flora." He grunted and stared at the fire. "Ready money, my boy, that's the secret. As I told you before, the man with ready money is king. He may purchase anything he wishes."

I understood his meaning, though he would never put it into words, perhaps even to himself. His money had wiped away the stain of his daughter's bastardy. It had made a titled gentleman overlook Mr Carswall's lack of gentility. And, best of all, it had bought him the prospect of a vicarious immortality in the persons of his unborn grandson and all the little Carswall Ruispidges that might descend from him and lord it over all and sundry.

The old man took out his watch but did not open it. He pressed the button and the repeater emitted its tiny chime.

"Has one of the servants blabbed about my grandfather?" he said. "Before he went to London, he was clerk to the steward of Monkshill when old Mr Frant had the estate. I came here once as a boy, and watched the fine gentry through the trees by the lake." Carswall tapped the watch's case, yawned and added in a gloating, childish whisper: "But who is master now, eh? Tell me that: who is master now?"

Sophie was by herself in the drawing room, her face golden in the light of the candles. I looked away, wishing I were a little less elevated.

"Will you take tea?" she said. "And shall I set a cup for Mr Carswall?"

"I do not think he will be joining us." My voice emerged more loudly than I had anticipated, and I enunciated my next words with particular care. "Have Mrs Lee and Miss Carswall retired?"

"They are in the library. Mrs Lee recollected seeing a volume containing views of Clearland-court. They have been longer at it than I expected."

I said that it was not to be wondered at that Miss Carswall wished to dwell upon the scenes of her future felicity. I took my cup of tea and sat on the sofa to drink it. The room was huge and chilly, built for show not comfort. The brief excitement of the wine receded, leaving me still in low spirits, yet still a long way from sobriety. Sophie's silence unnerved me. There were no forms, no rules of conduct, to guide us in our present position. Dear God, how I would have liked to kneel by her and lay my aching head on her lap. The cup and saucer rattled as I set them down.

"Sophie."

She stared at me, her face stern, even shocked, as if what had happened yesterday meant nothing, or was merely a figment of my imagination.

"I have to know," I said. "What happened means everything to me."

"You are not yourself, sir."

"I wish to marry you."

She shook her head and said in a voice so low I had to strain to hear: "It is not possible, Mr Shield. I have to think of Charlie. What is past is past. I regret it immensely, but I am afraid I must ask you never to raise this subject again."

Miss Carswall's voice was audible in the hall, addressing Mrs Lee. "The west wing is altogether too mean for a house like Clearland. It will have to be rebuilt. I shall talk to Sir George, by and by."

So, as the ladies drank tea and chattered about Clearland-court, I knew I was justly repaid for both my presumption and my mendacity. First the presumption: it was one thing for a lady like Sophia Frant to forget herself for an hour or two on a winter afternoon, and quite another for her to marry an apothecary's son who eked out a living at a private school. Nor was this the end of my bitter reflections on this head. Sophie's richly deserved refusal of my offer had re-awoken my jealousy of Captain Ruispidge, and granted it a double force.

Then the mendacity: I had not been honest with her about so many things, not least my suspicion that Mr Henry Frant might still be in the land of the living; that he was a murderer as well as an embezzler; and that for all we knew to the contrary he was within a few miles of us. So great was my desire for her that I had urged the innocent Sophie unwittingly to run the risk of committing bigamy, a crime in the eyes of both God and man.

Oh yes, I was justly served. Even I realised that.

The following day was Sunday, and we drove to Flaxern Parva for divine service. Mr Noak and Mr Carswall did not feel equal to the journey and kept each other company by the library fire. The Ruispidge brothers were in church, but not the ladies. Though we sat in separate pews, afterwards I had ample opportunity to watch Miss Carswall and Sir George, Sophie and the Captain, billing and cooing again.

In the coach on the way back, Miss Carswall said, "Poor Mrs Johnson!"

"She is unwell, I collect?" Sophie said.

"Sir George says she has quinsy. Her throat is so swollen she can hardly speak. She had hoped to be well enough to call upon us within a day or two, Sir George said, but must beg to be excused until she is better. The servant has orders to admit no one."

The coach rumbled on, the horses slipping and the machine swaying dangerously as we bounced in and out of the ice-caked ruts of the road. Miss Carswall said, "Thank heavens Papa is not with us. Can you imagine?" No one replied, and no one spoke for the remainder of the journey.

All that day, Sophie avoided my company. When circumstances threw us together, she would not meet my eyes. I snapped at the boys and was surly with the servants. It is all very well to say one should bear misfortune with philosophy, but in my experience when misfortune comes in by one door, philosophy leaves by the other.

The weather was still fine on Monday morning. After lessons, the boys begged me to take them down to the lake with their skates. On our way, we met Mr Harmwell and Mrs Kerridge returning to the house.

"Skating?" Mrs Kerridge said. "Enjoy it while you can."

"Why?" Charlie asked. "Is there to be a thaw?"

"It's not that. The men are cleaning out the ice-house. Once they start filling it, there'll be no more skating for a while."

"To my mind," Harmwell said, "it is a most insanitary arrangement."

Mrs Kerridge turned to him. "Why ever so, sir?"

"The problem here derives from the fact that the lake serves many purposes – it is not only ornamental, but a source of fish, and used for skating in winter and boating and swimming in summer. I understand from the head gardener that it is nigh on eighteen feet deep near the centre. This makes the ice hard to extract, and indeed dangerous for those charged with the task. And the quality of the ice is inevitably poor, bearing in mind the culinary uses it is intended for. It often contains rotting vegetation, for example, and the corpses of small animals. No, I believe the Dutch method-"